


Death's Mafia

by Auraion



Series: Death's Mafia [1]
Category: American Gods (TV), Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Dead Like Me, Final Fantasy XV, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, The Venture Bros, WET (Video Game)
Genre: KHR characters only mentioned, Roadtrip, Sky!Harry, Triads, ace!character, bamf!Rubi, desmond has dreams, everyone is connected to death, runaways - Freeform, undead familiars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auraion/pseuds/Auraion
Summary: After the war Harry has had enough of Wizards and Magic. He leaves the wizarding world with nothing but the clothes on his back before a friend suggests he hire a bodyguard and take a vacation. He heads out on an adventure and along the way finds a family he didn't ask for, but certainly needed.HP multicrossover. No pairings.





	Death's Mafia

**Author's Note:**

> So. Here's a plot bunny that wasn't going to go away even if I wanted it too. XD
> 
> I get bored at work, so I set myself challenges to keep myself occupied. This time it was to create a sky set with a specific theme. The rules I set myself went...
> 
> -every character must have a connection to death.  
> -every character must be able to function comfortably within the chosen era.  
> -any character picked must either be a background character or operating outside of their media timeline  
> (so nothing can happen during the plot of their story)  
> -no two characters can come from the same universe  
> \- and they can't be one of the characters of KHR.
> 
> so with those in mind I just went apeshit on it. *snorts*
> 
> This has been posted to my ff.net account under the name Mage-Alia as well, so don't be too surprised if it looks familiar.

When Harry first met Rubi, it was across a fold out table, aboard his friends rickety tug boat, floating on the Thames.

The idea had been simple.

To get as lost in the Muggle world as he could. Harry had left as soon as he'd rolled out of his hospital bed, taking nothing with him other than his wand and the clothes on his back. He'd vanished into London's back alleys and hidden catacombs and never settled down. Survival had consumed his thoughts, blocking out the nightmares and the pain that had haunted him since the final battle. Living hand to mouth he'd stole food and money, worked odd jobs for shady characters, becoming a forgettable face in an even more forgettable crowd.

At least until he started to make some unusual friends.

Harry wasn't the only veteran on the streets.

He'd spent the night in a shelter during one particularly bad storm and woken up screaming. An older man with a ratty grey beard who looked half insane had watched him as he'd rolled from the cot he'd been assigned and scrambled for a weapon that wasn't there, dry heaving all the while. The man, Phil, had diagnosed him on the spot with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and stayed up with him the rest of the night telling stories of his own tours of duty in a low droning voice. In an uncharacteristic display for one of the homeless, he'd told him all about coming home from the war only to find himself unable to fit in with the family he'd left behind and unable to find a new job he'd just up and left, taking to the streets and not looking back... just like Harry had.

Although he couldn't tell them about the Wizarding world, Harry found himself sharing his own stories and when the older veteran left the shelter Harry went with him.

Phil introduced him to a whole new world within the place where the dregs of society went to die. Others like themselves had created a network, a collective of their own where they leaned on each other to hide or heal. He'd stayed among them for nearly six months before he gathered the courage to at least try to return to the world above.

It had been a suggestion from his friend that he leave the country.

With so many of his memories tied to Great Britain, it certainly wouldn't hurt to get away from it all. When he'd admitted to never having left its borders or even having a passport they'd helped him apply for one. Finally, they'd suggested hiring a travel companion, a guide. Someone who could watch his back and help him deal with the people who would inevitably not understand his mind and how it worked.

When he admitted he could afford to do so no one was surprised. Most of the veterans still had pension, homes and families. They just chose not to use them.  
So they sent out a call, quietly through the network, for someone who might be interested in being a bodyguard for an undisclosed amount of time and a man by the name of Milo had answered.

He had a friend that need to get away for a while almost as badly as he did and so they met. On the tug boat, in the middle of the Thames.

And something had clicked.

For Harry it felt like a limb suddenly coming to life. The sharp static of pins and needles in the back of his head before the rolling thunder of a distant storm rumbled in his mind, filling a silence that he hadn't known was there in his brain. It was startling and sudden and Rubi Malone had nearly shot him before she calmed down and admitted the feeling, whatever it was, felt _good._

So in the dead of night, his new bodyguard in tow, Harry had gone into Diagon Alley. In a tense meeting with Goblins he'd negotiated the release of his accounts and set up access to them via an affiliated bank in the Muggle world and with funding in hand, he'd left the wizarding world. Making a B line for the nearest airport and taking the first available flight out of he country.

By the time the wizards woke and heard the rumours of his presence, Harry Potter was long gone.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

New York City was an overwhelming hive of life. People went about their days with and urgency that brought to mind constant motion. Nothing stopped, someone was always awake, stores were always open... it was a perfect place to get lost.

Harry and Rubi embraced their sudden anonymity and done all the things tourists did. Visiting the famous landmarks, spending days at a time living off street food. Harry indulged his curiosity, buying things he might never have bothered with if he hadn't had an expanded trunk on him. They'd been having so much fun, that Harry figured it was only a matter of time before the other shoe finally dropped and when it did... well...

Going to Chinatown had been the obvious mistake.

Rubi knew better. She hadn't spent all these years in the mercenary life without running into Triads and hell, they had a great memory for those that pissed them off... or in Rubi's case, wholesale slaughtered them in the past.

Harry's anxiety about the situation hadn't helped and she'd been forced to retreat from the fight. Triads had given chase, yelling in incomprehensible Chinese and broken English to catch them... to catch _Him._

Rubi had repressed her own need to fight, the red rage creeping into the corner of her vision as they ran through a warehouse and out into the streets. Getting in front of a cyclist, a guy no older than Harry in appearance, she threw a fifty dollar note at his face and told him he'd be good for another if he just got Harry out of there. The kid had stared at her in mute surprise until shout and gunshots spurred him into action, Harry flung himself onto the back of the bike and the kid kicked off, gunning it around the corner and toward the city center.

The last view they had of Rubi was of the woman rounding on the Triads as they spilled into the street, a corona of crimson flames visible around her and Berserker Rage burning in her eyes.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

The kid was called Desmond.

Well, he wasn't a kid really. He was nineteen to Harry's eighteen and when he'd come across Rubi and Harry that morning, he'd been running too. Until a few months ago he'd lived in a place called 'The Farm'. The Farm had been a place of no modern conveniences, no contact with the outside world and training training training. All hours of every day. Suffocated by the ever present authority of the elder generation and unwilling to spend his time doing nothing but exercise, he'd skipped out the first chance he had.

Realizing his dream to own a motorcycle and with plans to vanish into the mass of people in the same way Harry had he'd come to New York. But, with dwindling funds and fewer job prospects for a guy with no official education, he'd prepared himself to move on... until he'd been pulled over and bribed into taking Harry away. They'd raced through the city, the thrill of being chased lighting something in Desmond's veins that he didn't understand, but somewhere deep down, he'd liked it.  
He'd liked it a lot.

So when they slowed to a stop outside the younger guy's hotel, he'd gotten off his bike, fully intending to just collect the promised money, until a little voice in the back of his mind whispered something else... _'what if we stay?'_

The thought was sudden, invasive and sharp. It needled his brain until finally he turned, resolute, and held out his hand to shake.

"Desmond. My name is Desmond Miles." He took Harry's hand, pumping it up and down in a handshake and in that moment something fell into place. Colour flickered in the corner of his eye and he suddenly felt as though he was flying. Soaring through the sky, wind rushing through his hair.

Freedom.

He didn't know why. But in that moment, introducing himself to the stranger, he felt like he'd found Home.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

When Rubi returned to the hotel, covered in blood and a bottle of tequila in hand, she'd found her travel companion and his new friend lounging before the television in their suite, laughing at some terrible movie on the screen. She hadn't had the energy to care as she grunted at them and made straight for the bathroom, shedding bloodied clothing without a single thought for the audience. Desmond had spluttered comically before she'd passed out of sight and the shower turned on.

Something Harry had learned quickly about the Mercenary was that she cared little for modesty. It had been a surprise at first, but Harry, having seen everything the streets had to offer one way or another, wasn't fazed by her casual nudity in the least. Of course she was attractive. Any idiot could see that. But he himself had lost interest in other people since the war.

He did laugh though, when Rubi threw herself on to the couch beside him in nothing but a towel and Desmond freaked out once more. She took a long swig from her bottle of spirits before she handed it to Harry. He took a swig of his own and offered it to the still spluttering rider before giving it back to his bodyguard.

"So." Rubi began, rolling a baleful eye toward them. "How the fuck did you get an ability that's hunted for by the mafia?" Harry had honestly been confused. She'd been briefed on Magic when she'd become his bodyguard, so she couldn't mean that...

"Fuck." She sighed, slugging back another mouthful from her bottle. "Alright. So this tiny little Chinese fucker said you're a Sky... whatever the fuck that means." She stared at the movie on the screen before them unseeingly. The... baby, had been there when she'd come out of her rage. Dressed in silks and if it hadn't been for his obvious youth and the distinct red dummy hanging from his neck, she might have mistaken him for one of those tiny wizened old mummies she saw in that anime one time.

"Little fuck said something about a set, seven different colours, that the sky was important and that I was like him, that I'm a _Storm._ " Red flames, flickered almost imperceptibly at her fingertips, but vanished in the time it took Harry to blink.

He blinked again and then looked over at Desmond.

"Is purple a colour?" He asked, the slightly older teen stared back at him wide eyed and Rubi groaned, taking the hint... then another drink.

"Fuck. I'm not drunk enough for this shit." She moaned. Desmond gave a nervous giggle and looked at Harry for answers, but the green eyed boy just shrugged.

Hell if he knew any better.

They spent the rest of the evening watching the movie and passed out in varying states of inebriation, right there on the couch.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

They skipped town the next day.

Unwilling to hang around after the clusterfuck that had been their trip to China Town, Harry settled the bill with the hotel, shrank Desmond's motorcycle and hopped the first domestic flight across state lines. Desmond came with them. When he revealed he had nothing better to do and nowhere to go, Harry had insisted he join them. It wouldn't do to leave behind the newly bonded cloud... or at least that's what Rubi called him. Honestly she wasn't sure about it either, but she'd already called ahead to Milo for more information. He was in England. Thus much better placed to find out what the hell was going on in the Italian mafia that was said to be gunning for them.

They disembark from the plane in Cleaveland of all places and wind up in a dive bar waiting for Rubi's information broker to come through. The three of them made an odd scene. Both Desmond and Harry are too young to be in a bar. Twenty-one was the legal age there although they would have been fine almost anywhere else. Rubi, fierce as her reputation is, is torn between hovering over them protectively or keeping her distance to preserve what reputation she has left.

In the end she need not bother.

Harry and Desmond are interrupted from their umpteenth thumb war when a tray is set down on their table by a blonde woman. She gives them an empty smile as three shot glasses are transferred to the chipped wooden surface and steps back as a big black man appears as if out of nowhere, seated on the other side of their booth.

Rubi draws a blade on him, but he barely seems to notice it. The single dark eye, the one not concealed by an eyepatch, stares intently at Harry.

Green eyes can see the glimmers. The sparks of light and fire that linger in the peripheral of his vision.

"I had a feeling, that you're going to need an odd body." He addresses Harry, ignoring the other two and reality ripples around him.

_'Indigo. Mist.'_

Rubi cursed as she recognized it herself.

The one eyed man merely smirked and slid one of the shot glasses across the table.

"Three drinks to seal the deal." He began with an air toward a ritual. As if the words had been said many times before. "Honeyed mead. Just like old times. I'll do anything you want me to until you die. I'll guard your secrets and stand watch at your grave, unless you do something that puts innocent lives in needless danger or you piss me off."

Harry looked at him. Really looked. His eyes narrowed and flickered to the blonde waitress.

"... and your... familiar?" There was a strong link there in the way she hung around. Too wide eyes and her round face were pretty but there was something off about her, something different... reality warped again and it became obvious that the man's powers were keeping her secrets because in that moment it was obvious she was dead. Conscious and alive, but very very dead.

"His wife." She corrected him and Harry just raised an eyebrow.

"And if I never die?" The green eyed sky asked, hinting at something deeper that the other seemed to grasp the very edges of in the way the blonde seemed suddenly wary of him.

"Neither will I." He was amused. So was Harry honestly. He gave a short laugh and grabbed the first glass.

"Finally, what's your name?" At that the man laughed outright.

"Shadow." He introduced himself, a slight of hand producing a business card. "Shadow Moon."

Harry slugged back the shot.

 

\--------------------------------------

 

They meandered across the country after that. Shadow turned out to be a rather good tour guide once they mentioned they were on holiday. Getting away from their own worlds for a while until anywhere felt nice enough to settle down.

Shadow drove a car he said he'd inherited from his last boss. It was a big black classic model who's value was honestly lost on Harry, but Desmond and Rubi approved at least. It was bigger on the inside, like ministry cars and sometimes seemed like it was invulnerable to damage. Shadow's mist was the most obvious source of the changes, but the man also enlightened them to the power of belief. His old boss had taught him magic based on belief, and that the people who flashed in and out of Shadow's presence were gods. Although he'd never really been religious, Harry could at least believe that these people were powerful in some way that wasn't flames and wasn't magic.

But that really wasn't his concern now was it.

Still, Shadow continued to drive. From one great or big monument to another. It was nice, in a way, getting lost in the middle of nowhere America, going without seeing others for so long that it almost always felt good to come back to civilization. They learned as they went too, experimenting with the new powers they'd unlocked and teaching themselves how to function as a unit.

It was weeks later that they found themselves in the State of Washington. Clear across the country from where they'd picked up Shadow. It was a mystery how they'd made it there as quickly as they had but they figured there was some mist or magic involved. Seattle seemed nice that time of year though.

Their party had only just rolled into town as stores were opening and Shadow professed a desire for waffles.

Waffles.

Baffled by the sudden and specific craving, the others had followed him to a cosy diner called "Der Waffle Haus". Rubi and Desmond had been bickering about superheroes and their powers after Desmond had stumbled across a pile of comics and started having dreams about assassins. The specific characters in his dreams were vivid and had some of the most insane adventures. Given how consistent they were Shadow, the most spiritual of their quintet had suggested that he might be reliving a past life.

Desmond had immediately went on a rant about a range of other powers he'd prefer over putting a blade in someone's back. Rubi had complained about how easy her job would be if she had some of the powers in those comics and they'd been debating it all night.

So they didn't notice when the undead woman in their midst started to look uncomfortable and fidget. Shadow took one look at her and sighed.

"More?" He asked and she nodded, shrinking behind him. Harry followed her line of sight and noticed the group sitting in a booth on the other side of the restaurant gaping at him. Shadow sighed again and said one word that made the green eyed man's heart sink.

"Reapers."

And it all made sense.

Being dead it would make sense that Laura Moon would be terrified of her afterlife, but it was their focus on him that forced him to remember. Recall things that had lead to his unwanted and brief status as the Master of Death. Or so he thought. Laura had been afraid of him too at first. She'd told them how she'd argued with Shadow to stay away from him, but the sky attraction had been strong and eventually, she'd learned that Harry didn't really care what she did. She was dead, yes. But she was there by her own will. Was she avoiding her just rewards? Certainly. But he knew as well as she did that it wasn't forever. She came back because Shadow loved her. She stayed at his whim and he was all that stood between her and an ending she'd rather not see. Somewhere along the line the undead had become a familiar. A being tied solely to the strange Magic's that Shadow wielded.

But the reapers weren't looking at her...

A hurried conversation happened at the table on the other side of the room as he sat down. A perky looking waitress that was too awake for the time of day took their orders and Harry was just beginning to relax when one of the young women at the table across rolled out of her seat. The others looked at her mortified, a ragged young man hissing at her to stop as she marched across the room and came to stand by their table, hands in pockets as she rocked back and forward on her heels.

Her face seemed innocent, but her bearing was not. She opened her mouth, eyes on Harry, and said the words he dreaded most.

"Hi Boss."

Harry groaned and let his head slump down onto the table with a solid _**Thunk!**_

Blue rippled toward him and a new link settled into place.

His rain guardian was a Grim Reaper...

He was beginning to detect a theme.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

So an assassin, a mercenary, a con man with a dead wife and now a Grim Reaper drive around the country together in a black car that's bigger on the inside.

It honestly sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.

But there they were, trekking inland once more. Even though he'd liked Seattle, Harry couldn't bring himself to stay there. With the local reapers aware of his presence, or at least emboldened by George's, he knew he had to move on. So move they did. Heading down the western coast for a while before angling inward. They'd gone clear through the northern states and missed a lot in their crossing. Seasons were turning and going further south seemed almost natural.

Their newest addition seemed to be having the time her life.

Georgia 'George' Lass had lived a short life and a colourful death. She'd died young when she'd been hit by a toilet seat of all things, that dropped from orbit. The reaper that shunted her soul from her body before the accident had reached his "quota" and she'd been figuratively left holding the bag. She had a rather placid personality and had pretty much just rolled with the punches until Harry had walked into the Waffle House and sat down.

Apparently, the reapers could see the marks of his station. Even though he'd buried the Hallows, their effects still influenced him to this day and it only took one look to know. He was the Master of Death.

Even so, just because she'd left her team to follow him, she still had work. Reaping, that was. Every morning, no matter where they were or even if they stopped, a post-it note would appear. Sometimes the force that delivered them left them on the nightstand, or in her hand, or in one particular instance they'd stuck it to her forehead. (That time they'd been on the road in the wee hours and it had blinked into existence without warning, making the woman scream in surprise.)

The post-it notes would sometimes have names, others just initials. Sometimes there would be an address to go to or a place to visit, but the only constant was a time. And sure as clockwork, wherever they went, when the time came, George would bump into someone and they'd be popped out of their body to watch what was often an accident of Rube Goldberg style complexity, at least from the perspective of those who knew what was going to happen.

George had said, because of the way she had died, some higher being had decided she should get the joy of reaping people that would die in similar fashions. (She'd given him a narrow look before deciding he hadn't had anything to do with that particular choice.) He still went along with her though. Those deaths were hilarious in ways that made him laugh harder than he ever had before. Oftentimes, the recently dead would complain or cry or scream or simply just stare at him in horror until George would usher them along toward the light in the distance, soothing Rain flames making the process a lot easier now that she'd worked out how to use them to get her way.

They were winding their way through Nevada when George got an odd one. They'd stopped at a roadside motel after Shadow had decided to see if an old friend was in the area. Rubi and Desmond were off training after rolling out of Harry's bed that morning. After waking up on the couch that first day, hungover and in Rubi's case, mostly naked, they hadn't been bothered by sharing. Rubi insisted that as she was still his bodyguard, she should be nearby. Some nights she slept on a chair, others she rolled into his bed but she was rarely more than a few feet away at any one time.

Desmond was much the same, back before they'd run across Shadow and Laura, it had been cheaper just to get one room, especially since Rubi was going to be in there with Harry anyway, they'd gotten used to it. The habit had persisted even when new elements had come along because, of Harry was honest. Having them nearby staved off his nightmares. It was a win win he supposed.

Still, he couldn't help but pull a face as he looked at the post-it note George handed him when they met in the reception.

It was written entirely in some alien gibberish. Like someone had smashed a keyboard and then taken a pen and written out the resulting text. The only two things clear about it was a name "Hank" and a time... which was about five minutes from now...

There was a clatter of sound from across the motel compound. Shouting started and Harry and George stared at each other, wide eyed, before they started running. They leapt out toward the commotion and discovered a half naked guy, holding the rest of his clothes as he tried to get away from a screeching woman. It was bad for a walk of shame, worse that their fight was being witnessed by others. There was a shout of "HANK!" And the two aspects of Death noticed the car heading toward the man. Georg wouldn't reach him in time to pop him out, but in the split second before the chaos went down Harry noticed it.

The green sparks of fire appearing every time one of the woman's random projectiles found its target. Blue eyes rolled over toward him, pleading for help to just stop her, and Harry decided.

The post-it note crumbled to dust in George's fist.

Moving faster than he thought possible, only vaguely aware of the flickering amber in the corners of his vision, Harry rushed from George's side and threw himself at the helpless lightning. The force of his body blow sent them sailing out of the way of the oncoming car, avoiding the accident as the vehicle skidded to a stop. A man that was probably a pimp, given how angry he looked and the overall situation, leapt from the driver's seat, his expression that of someone ready and willing to commit murder.

Harry was on his feet in a second. George raced over to him, a blue flicker in her hand as she got ready. 

"BOSS!" The title had become a nickname for the guardians, ever since the Reaper's introduction, but here it made the angry man pause.

It was just enough of one that Rubi had the chance to drop in unannounced.

Literally.

From the roof.

"There a problem here Boss?" She drawled, eyeing the pimp who eyed her weapons in turn. To anyone watching, they could see the gears turning in the man's head, he was wary, and rightfully so. So Harry decided to see if he could push that feeling a bit further, following his gut...

"Ah, no Rubi. I'm sure the gentleman and his... lady friend, were just about to leave."

... and there it was. Recognition.

The man had heard of Rubi Malone. He was clearly working for a criminal element if his seeming occupation was anything to go by. But Rubi had been out of the picture for months. Not long enough to be forgotten in the criminal underworld, but long enough that anyone who cared to know, would have found out that the last time the woman was seen, it had been in New York City, fighting with Triads and in the presence of someone wanted by the Mob.

Seeing the out Harry had given him, and being just the bottom feeder that he was. The pimp cut it and ran. Gathering up the still confused and distressed hooker he tossed her in the car and skidded out of there almost as fast as he'd driven in. Rubi snorted and gestured Desmond to join them from where he was perched on the edge of the roof above them, a knife twirling in his fingers. George took a deep breath and gave her Boss the stink eye as she got a better look at the now dressed blonde man who had grace enough to look sheepish as they turned as one to look at him.

"You've got the worst sort of luck, don't you Boss." The Reaper grumbled.

Harry laughed.

"It's the down side of keeping life interesting."

Rubi snorted.

"Trouble, is what it is." She added. "You're a total magnet."

George agreed.

 

\------------------------------------

 

Hank is as Lost as Lost Souls can get.

Their wayward Lightning's full name was Henry Allan "Hank" Venture the fifteenth.

And he was a clone.

The reason his Post-it note had been so fucked up was because he'd died a number of times before. Once the cloning facility that stored the spare bodies had been destroyed he'd been a lot more careful with his life, but that didn't mean accidents didn't happen, especially when he claimed that his father was a mad scientist type and he was technically a child adventurer...

He sympathized strongly with Harry's past once he heard the basics and they bonded right then and there over arch-nemesis and controlling father figures.

To make matters worse though, not only was he moderately temporally displaced, but also dimensionally. He'd been with his brother, helping him find something in one of the old labs belonging to their grandfather when he'd set off a machine that after a bright light show had spit him out into the middle of nowhere Nevada with only the clothes on his back and the emergency kit he wore at all times.

He'd stuck around his arrival site for nearly a week before he was forced to leave for supplies and it had long since become a fact that he wasn't going to find his way home there, nor was anyone planning to come get him. (If there was a stray clone of him still around, his family had likely already activated it by now.)

Instead the Venture had spent the last year as a drifter. Going from town to town doing odd jobs, and in a strange lesson learned from his dad's old body guard, maintaining girlfriends who would house and feed him for as long as he could get away with it. The woman from this morning had been the latest attempt, but it had backfired spectacularly. Still. He was glad to be invited along and they inevitably skipped town once more to avoid the trouble of dealing with the fallout of what they'd done to save Hank in the first place.

That was becoming a theme too.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

It was starting to feel crowded in their car, even with their expanded space as they circled around Colorado and Arizona before making their way to California and into Los Angeles. Arriving in the big city only highlighted how long it had been since they'd settled anywhere and even though they tried to remain decent, they still rolled into town looking like a collection of dirty backpackers. Well. Harry, Desmond, Hank and George did. Rubi, Shadow and Laura appeared untouched by their time on the road. They'd managed their travel a lot better than the younger four, who hadn't had much to start with between them. Two runaways, a drifter and a dead person.

It was with an odd sense of shame that Harry offered to get them some better fitting stuff now that they weren't effectively living out of tourist destinations. So a suitcase of decent clothing later Hank was dressed up in a bomber jacket that he insisted, reminded him of his dad's bodyguard, George was in a semi-work/casual outfit that made her come off as a personal secretary at a casual glance and Desmond's choices had been pretty plain, sticking to shades of white, grey and red while his only really special purchase was a hoody. White and zippered at an angle with a dark red lining, it had an etching of an eagle on the back. Wings spread wide across his shoulders, it was an obvious reference to his past self.

Their last stop had been formal wear, the itch in the back of Harry's head that hadn't steered him wrong yet had been nudging him toward the nearest store all day and eventually he managed to drag the others in. Even Shadow and Rubi, only to find himself staring at a girl who shines so brightly she glows.

Clad in white, she looks as though she's related to Hank in colouring. Platinum blonde hair done up in a high ponytail, ageless blue eyes that stare deep into their soul's, a slender figure that seems to go on forever with how her outfit is cut. If Harry had been remotely interested in people right then he might have started flirting with her. As it is, she looks so much like Luna. The Luna he left behind along with everything else in his life before he ran away.

It it's not his Luna. Her name tag says Lunafreya.

She smiles at them as they shuffle into the store, and with all the poise and grace of royalty she takes his hands and the bond all but blooms, wrapping around the others and engulfing them with a warmth.

She's not a Moon.

She's a sun and she was waiting for them.

And then the moment is over and the illusion falls away to reveal a cream coloured blazer and skirt as she steps back and asks them what they were looking for. Harry spends the rest of the visit in a daze as she dresses up the others. All calm as could be she rings up the sale, turns to her manager and hands in her notice before taking off the name tag, putting on a different white dress and taking the skies arm to guide him out of the store and down the street, cheerily saying how it's her turn to treat them to a meal to celebrate the completion of their set.

She knows more than she ought to. A veritable fountain of secrets that she murmurs to him as they enter a hotel restaurant and are immediately led to a table set for eight. Harry is set at the head of the table, Rubi on his left, Luna on the right and it's seated there that Wayward Wizard comes out of his daze and realizes that somehow, he's built himself a family. Six people bound to him through a mysterious ability, but a family none the less.

He decides that it might be time to stop running from his past, and from his nightmares... he won't have to face them alone anymore.

... and then a baby with a fedora and a yellow pacifier walks through the door.

\------------------------------------


End file.
